


In the Still of the Night

by Mizmak



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Crowley makes a snow angel, Declarations Of Love, First Kiss, Fluff, Happy Ending, M/M, Short & Sweet
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-01
Updated: 2021-01-01
Packaged: 2021-03-10 18:01:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,096
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28481346
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mizmak/pseuds/Mizmak
Summary: Aziraphale asks Crowley an unexpected question on a snowy December walk.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 11
Kudos: 71





	In the Still of the Night

On a chilly, overcast night in late December, Aziraphale took up Crowley’s offer to have dinner at the Ritz, to celebrate the four-month anniversary of saving the world.

“Did we not celebrate the three, two, and one-month anniversary?” he asked over his meal. “Is this going to continue?”

“Why not?” Crowley replied. “Good reason to order champagne.” 

“True. Usually when we dine out, it’s only wine.”

And they had been eating out a great deal. During those early weeks of freedom from Heaven, Aziraphale had reveled in feeling truly _content_ , without that flutter of anxiety over being with his friend keeping him on edge. 

He had felt a happiness he’d never known before, and it was greatest whenever Crowley was with him.

Which was a lot of the time.

Well, most of the time.

They spent those heady first weeks just _being_ together—for meals, for walks, for entertainment outings of varied sorts, and for long evenings of relaxation. Aziraphale knew sustained ease and comfort in Crowley’s presence, a feeling he cherished, remembering how rare it had been before now.

“We should never stop doing this,” he told Crowley sometime in the middle of September. “Dining out, going for strolls in the park, going to museums and galleries, to the theater. I know we did this in the past, but it’s different without the worry.”

“Nothing I’d rather be doing, Angel,” Crowley had replied.

And so they had spent most of their waking hours together—at least, Crowley’s waking hours. Aziraphale regretted the ones lost to his friend’s sleeping habit, and considered taking to it himself if only to pass those hours more quickly.

By the second month, he knew perfectly well that wanting to spend every moment he possibly could with Crowley was a well-known symptom of being in love. But then, Aziraphale _had_ loved his friend for ages, and the only difference now was that he could act on it. 

So he rarely left the dear fellow alone. The dear fellow didn’t seem to mind.

And in fact, he gazed at Aziraphale over every meal with that look of deep affection that had always been there, only never spoken of. And in fact, Aziraphale stared at him too, eyes alight with love, never spoken of either.

Did they need to, after all these centuries? By the third month, Aziraphale wondered if they would, or could do so, now that the restraints which had bound them to silence for six millennia had been broken. There was surely no need to keep the love they had so carefully kept from Heaven and Hell from each other any longer.

And so here he sat, late into that fourth month, celebrating at the Ritz. Aziraphale drank his champagne, and Crowley gazed at him with the deepest affection, as always. Aziraphale thought, because of that loving look, that this could be the moment. He smiled, and waited for the words to come. 

“It’s snowing,” Crowley said.

“Hm.” Aziraphale glanced out the tall windows. Not the words he had hoped to hear. Huge fluffy white flakes cascaded down. “Quite a lot. Unusual.”

Crowley had not ordered a meal. He merely snagged nibbles of sole from Aziraphale’s plate, which he did now. “Mm. Not bad.”

“You could at least get an appetizer.” 

“Nah. I only come for the dessert.” Crowley picked up his flute of champagne. “And the drinks.” He finished it off, and that was the last of that bottle, so he ordered up another.

Aziraphale ate his dinner slowly, savoring every bite. He drank more champagne than usual, while contemplating saying something about love himself. Why not? Well, perhaps the mood wasn’t quite right yet. Perhaps another bottle or two of champagne would improve his feeling of boldness. 

As they made their way through more champagne, the snowflakes grew in size and intensity. By the time they reached dessert, when Crowley ordered not one but two servings of chocolate mousse, the serving staff had begun going round to all to the tables with weather warnings. 

“BBC News is advising people to stay indoors,” their waiter informed them. “The streets are becoming impassable, and we are advising patrons to take taxis or other public transport.”

“Thank you,” Aziraphale replied. “Most kind.”

“No driving?” Crowley poured out the last of the fourth—or was it the fifth—bottle into their glasses. “Stupid snow.”

“Not that far to the bookshop. We could walk there in twenty minutes.” Hopefully. Aziraphale wasn’t entirely certain of his ability to walk steadily in his current state. “Perhaps we ought to sober up first.”

“Nope, not me.” Crowley finished off his first mousse, and shoved the second towards him. “Share this one?”

“Mmmm.” All thoughts about the weather fled in the face of such a scrumptious treat. Aziraphale dug into it with glee.

An hour and yet another bottle of champagne later, they staggered out of the restaurant into a world covered in white. 

“Oh, dear.” Aziraphale blinked as the snowflakes fluttered around his face. “Not a taxi in sight.”

“Walk,” Crowley said, as he ambled off in the general direction of Soho.

Aziraphale stumbled after, scurrying a bit to catch him up. He could walk perfectly well while intoxicated. Done it hundreds of times. Thousands, probably. “Is this the right street?” He couldn’t see the signs through the white flakes clouding his vision.

“Yup.” Crowley halted as Aziraphale came up beside him. “I think. Probably. Signpost here, blocking my way.”

“Go round it, you idiot.”

“Uh huh. Right. Wait!” Crowley tore off his sunglasses, which were covered with snow. He tossed them aside. “No wonder.” He stared at the street sign. “This way!” 

They both sloshed along the pavement through piles of snow, and Aziraphale felt remarkably pleased with himself for being so intrepid. “Ho! Onward through the wintry blast, I say, ever onward through the frosty deeps!”

“What are you blathering about?” Crowley wove sideways nearly as often as he made a straight line. “Wintry deeps? We’re not in ruddy Antarctica.”

“Make haste, for icy hands reach out to take their toll!”

Crowley stopped, and Aziraphale nearly ran into him. “Angel, have you been reading Victorian poetry again?” 

“Nope.”

“Shakespeare?”

“Stand still,” Aziraphale replied. Crowley wove back and forth in an unpleasant fashion.

“I _am_ standing still. You’re the one who’s moving.”

“I’m not moving. I’m drunk.” Aziraphale waved his arms gaily at the falling snow. “And it’s snowing, and I’m happy.” He blinked more flakes out of his eyes. “Where are we?” He spied another street sign, walked over, and peered at it intently. “Ah. Not too much farther.”

“Lead on, then, MacDuff.”

“Right.” Aziraphale led on.

As they were weaving past Golden Square, not that far from the bookshop, Crowley abruptly veered towards a pile of snow on the grounds. “Gonna make a snow angle. I mean _angel_. Hah.”

Aziraphale stood there, watching as Crowley unceremoniously flopped onto his back with his arms outstretched.

“Come on, make one with me!” Crowley started moving his arms and legs vigorously up and down.

“Absholu—asolutle—certainly not!” Aziraphale laughed at the sight of his dear friend making a fool of himself. “Am already an angel, case you forgot.”

Crowley worked away a bit more at his heavenly, and slightly wobbly creation. Then he tried valiantly to get up without disturbing the impression, which he mostly managed to do. He shook himself all over, then brushed at the snow on his clothes.

Aziraphale came up close beside him to admire his effort. As they stood there and looked at the angelic impression, Aziraphale heard his own voice echoing in his head. _You were an angel once._ He had told Crowley that, not too many months ago, on one of the worst days of his eternal life.

It took him aback, and he suddenly felt a good deal more sober.

Crowley smiled happily at him as he stood there, swaying gently. “Beautiful angel, isn’t it?”

“Yes…it is.” Aziraphale looked at his friend. Beautiful indeed. 

Crowley stopped swaying. His expression changed. The alcohol-infused playfulness vanished, replaced by something far different, far more serious. “You’re staring at me, Aziraphale. You’ve got that look—”

He knew what Crowley meant, but asked all the same. “Which look is that?”

“The one where you—where I think you—” Crowley swallowed. “You know. I know you know…it’s the one that makes me want to take hold of you and not let go, but I don’t, because I’m not sure you’ll let me in that close…it’s too much for you…isn’t it?”

Aziraphale gazed thoughtfully at the angel in the snowbank. Of course he knew. He suddenly felt bold enough to speak at last. “Crowley…do you think, if we had met in Heaven, that we would have loved each other then?”

“Oh, Angel…” Crowley cocked his head, and his lips twitched into a soft smile. “If I could have loved you from the beginning of time, I would have.”

Aziraphale stared at him, amazed by such astonishing declaration. “My dear?” Should he go to him—would he want an embrace? 

Crowley suddenly shivered. “I’m cold.” He rubbed his arms, his clothes damp from snow. “I’m an idiot.”

In less time than a single thought, Aziraphale’s wings opened as he moved to embrace the fool. He wrapped his arms and his feathers around Crowley, who slipped into the hold with ease. Warmth flowed from his wings into and around them both.

“You might attract attention,” Crowley said as he put his arms around Aziraphale’s waist. 

“Hush. I don’t care.” He held part of one wing overhead, sheltering them from the falling snow. “When you’re warm and dry again, I’ll put them away.”

Crowley sighed as he pressed tightly against Aziraphale. He nuzzled his head against Aziraphale’s hair, and his cheek.

“We should sober up,” Aziraphale said. “The alcohol can’t be helping.”

They both did so—and somewhere inside the Ritz, a startled waiter watched several bottles of champagne slowly refill. 

“That’s better.” Aziraphale could feel light tremors coursing through Crowley, and willed the warmth of his wings to soothe, to comfort, to drive away the cold. Slowly, the shivering subsided. Crowley breathed deeply, calmly. 

“I want to go home,” he whispered.

Aziraphale knew that Crowley meant the bookshop. “Are you all right now?”

“Perfectly fine. Nice and warm and dry.” Crowley pulled out of the embrace. “Thanks, Angel.”

Aziraphale folded his wings out of sight. He snapped his fingers to produce two wide-brimmed hats, put one on, and handed the other over. “Come on, then.”

They hurried on through the falling snow, and in a few minutes had reached the bookshop. As soon as they got inside, they both took off their hats, now damp with snow. “Brr,” Crowley said. “Remind me not to lie down in this stuff again.” 

Aziraphale took off his coat, and hung it up. “We should get you out of those clothes.” He touched at his own vest and shirt. Everything felt cold. “We both should. Come up to the bedroom—I’ve got pyjamas.”

Crowley shrugged. “I’ll just miracle my clothes dry and—” He broke off. “Er, I mean…um…uh. Yeah, pyjamas. Sounds great.”

He looked remarkably guilty all of a sudden, which was when Aziraphale belatedly realized that Crowley could have used a snap of his fingers earlier to keep himself warm and dry.

But he hadn’t. Instead, he had appealed to Aziraphale for aid. And comfort, and warmth, and closeness. “Ahem.” He smiled. “Something you wish to explain, my dear?”

“No! I mean, you know, um. Well, I was drunk, and didn’t think about using any miracles. Just completely slipped my mind.”

“Are you sure?” Aziraphale walked over to stand quite close, within a foot of his friend. “You didn’t have any sort of ulterior motive in mind when you said you were too cold?”

Crowley gulped. “I’m not that clever, Angel.”

“Oh, yes, you are, you wily fiend.” Aziraphale placed a hand on Crowley’s snow-damp shirt. “My goodness. You’re shivering again. Still cold?”

Crowley looked at Aziraphale’s hand. He looked up, eyes gone soft. “I just wanted to feel your touch.”

“Worked quite well, I thought.”

“Yeah, it did.” Crowley put a hand over Aziraphale’s. “But _you’re_ the one who talked about love first. That’s what made me do it. You just came right out and asked—”

“And you answered.” _If I could have loved you from the beginning of time, I would have…._

“—so I wanted to hold you then, but I wasn’t sure you wanted that—”

“I did. No ploy needed.”

“Oh. Well.” Crowley smiled. “That’s all right, then. Sorry. Should have just asked. I’m an idiot. Again.”

“We’re _friends_ ,” Aziraphale said patiently. “You can always ask me _anything.”_

“Right. Of course. Got it.” Crowley leaned in to place a light kiss on Aziraphale’s forehead. “Bedroom? Pyjamas?”

They went upstairs and got out of their damp clothing. Aziraphale donned his favorite sky-blue satin pyjamas, and offered Crowley the only other pair he owned, which were, naturally, tartan flannel—in wintry shades of red and green.

“I don’t think so, Angel.” Crowley fingered the soft material. “Can I turn them into black silk?”

“Must you?”

“How about if you wear the tartan, and I take those blue ones?”

“I thought you’d prefer the flannel—much warmer.”

Crowley pursed his lips. “Yeah, that’s a point.” He gazed out the window, where the snow continued to fall in huge flakes. “How’s the old bookshop boiler running these days?”

“Barely keeping up. However, we do have the fireplace.” There was a small one in the bedroom, and Aziraphale snapped a blazing log fire into being. “How’s that?”

“Should do.” Crowley slowly pulled on the tartan pyjamas. He sighed. “You will never speak of this.”

“Who would I tell?” Aziraphale turned off the overhead light. “You look enchanting, my dear.”

“Shut it.” 

“The red goes well with your hair, which both set off nicely against the green.”

“Angel—”

“Reminds me of Christmas.”

Crowley made a series of unintelligible noises.

Aziraphale ignored him, and climbed into bed. He patted the covers. “Do stop overreacting and get in here.”

There was no further protest of any kind. Crowley quietly slid beneath the covers.

As they lay there on their backs, firelight dancing along the walls, snowflakes cascading past the window, Aziraphale felt ever so at peace. He had not made a habit of sleeping, but he did indulge from time to time. This was the first time he had shared a bed—and how amazing it felt to be sharing it with the one person on Earth he wished to be have forever at his side.

“I can’t see what you are wearing in the dark, you know,” he said lightly.

“Probably a good thing.”

Aziraphale looked at Crowley. His amber eyes glowed in the firelight. Aziraphale slid his hand over, touching the warm flannel. Then he turned onto his side and shifted closer, and lay his arm across Crowley’s chest. “Mm. Nice and soft.”

Crowley turned his head to gaze right into Aziraphale’s eyes. “Me, or the flannel?”

“Both.”

“Soft,” Crowley repeated. “There goes my reputation….”

Ah, yes. The façade Crowley had worn for so long—cool, nonchalant, sauntering around the Earth as if he owned it. “I saw through you ages ago, you know.”

“Uh-huh. So did I.” Crowley touched Aziraphale’s cheek. “Saw through _you_ , that is.”

“Really?” He didn’t have a façade—not that he was aware of, anyway. “What do you mean?”

“I mean the angel who pretended to be ever so obedient to Heaven, and who would never dare do anything that wasn’t _right_.” Crowley ran his long fingers through Aziraphale’s hair. “I didn’t have to work hard to tempt you into having a drink or a meal with your hereditary enemy, did I? Or to agree to the Arrangement, or any number of other little missteps…because you had already taken the first step away from Heaven’s rules when you gave away that sword. Nothing to do with me at all. I just came along afterwards, to keep a slightly worried, misbehaving angel company.”

“Oh.” Aziraphale relaxed under Crowley’s caresses. “I suppose that’s true.” He looked into his friend’s golden eyes. “And I was given the best possible companion. One I could grow to love.”

“Pretty ineffable, if you ask me.” Crowley cupped Aziraphale’s chin, and ran his thumb over his lips. “Do you want to—”

Aziraphale kissed him. 

The touch was short and sweet, and drew a little gasp from Crowley. Aziraphale kissed his cheek for afters. “I love you,” he whispered. “And I just want to lie here every night with you.”

Crowley kissed the tip of Aziraphale’s nose. “I can do that. You know, because I’m soft and all.” He kissed Aziraphale on the lips, just a little longer, with a tenderness that spoke more of love than any words.

Though the words would sound nice, too…. Aziraphale smiled as he nestled up against his dear friend, head on Crowley’s shoulder, arm still round his waist. As he thought over the evening, and the night, and all that happened between them this night, he said, “I’ve decided that snow angels are a marvelous thing to make.”

Because it was that snow angel—that wobbly, completely unexpected angel made by a fallen angel—that had made him think about Crowley in Heaven, and had brought that unusual question to his lips. _Would we have loved each other then?_ It was a question which had never crossed his mind before, and yet it came unbidden from some hidden depth. 

And it had elicited an answer beyond all his dreams. 

Crowley lay his arm atop Aziraphale’s, and as they lay embraced, he whispered, “If I can love you until the end of time, I will.”

_Ah._ Aziraphale briefly tightened his hold, then relaxed. He would have been overjoyed with a simple _I love you_ …this echoing sentiment of Crowley’s first declaration was far more astonishing. _Let there be no end to time, then._ “I shall be here,” he said simply. 

The glow from the hearth flickered lower as the fire burned down, and the snowflakes fell more lightly against the windowpane. Aziraphale listened to Crowley’s breaths slow, and deepen, his eyes now closed. 

The city seemed to lie in silence, blanketed in snow. The world did not intrude upon their quiet resting place. Aziraphale shut his eyes, and lay in the warmth of a loving embrace, and he drifted off to sleep, and to dream, in the still of the night.


End file.
